


Between the Margins

by vacantstars



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II, Purple Hawke ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacantstars/pseuds/vacantstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “I meant what I said, you know,” he says. “About being fugitives. Together.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“You’d really throw away everything for me?” Anders looks up at him in disbelief, finally meeting Hawke’s eyes. “Even after all of this?”</i></p><p>A series of moments in Hawke and Anders' life after Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Margins

**_i. Heav'n filled with silence, then did I know all_ **

“So, I never want to see another statue again,” is the first thing he manages to say to Anders after Kirkwall. 

 It wasn’t the best conversation starter, perhaps, but neither was, _‘So, lovely day to blow up a chantry, isn’t it?’_

The buzz of adrenaline from the battle has worn off, he has next to no mana left, and everything aches— but Hawke is still, remarkably, in one piece. They all are, more or less; the exhaustion from the day’s events is finally starting to settle in, and everyone is unusually quiet. Merrill’s fallen asleep against Carver, and he looks as though he’s trying way too hard to be nonchalant about it. Under different circumstances, he would’ve been playfully teasing him. At the moment, however, the most he can bring himself to do is give his brother a tired smile. 

Instead, Hawke focuses his attention on Anders, who’d managed to snap out of whatever it was he was contemplating to focus his attention on him. He isn’t wearing the carefully blank, vacant expression that he had been while he sat on a crate and waited to be executed. No, now he looks drained and at a loss. He’d never meant to make it this far, and Hawke is painfully aware of that.

“Hawke,” Anders starts, “Garrett—”

“I know,” Hawke interrupts, his voice surprisingly soft. “I know.”

“But you _don’t_ know.” 

“I might’ve, if you’d told me the truth. I meant that.” Anders opens his mouth to protest, but Hawke continues. “And I know what you’re going to say: you didn’t have a choice, you couldn’t have let me get involved, it was better if I hated you, a million other things— Anders, I _know_. I just wish that you did.”  

For a few long moments, the only sounds that could be heard was the rocking of the ship and the old wood pushing through the dark water. Anders’ gaze leaves Hawke briefly and he stares out onto the horizon, where they can still still Kirkwall burning and a hole in the skyline where the Chantry used to be. 

“I never thought you’d spare my life,” Anders finally says, tearing his eyes away from what remained of Kirkwall. 

“You honestly thought that I would kill you?” It’s more of a statement than a question. “I could never.” 

“It’s what I deserved. Still do.” Anders sounds tired, defeated. “It would’ve been justice.”

“Maybe I’m selfish, then.” Hawke shrugs, then sighs, trying to find the words. “I won’t pretend that blowing up the Chantry is what _I_ would have done, but that’s just it: I don’t know what I would’ve done. Something needed to happen, and you were right in that the world needed to see it. And if you didn’t act first, that inevitable _something_ might’ve been worse.”

Judging by how Anders stares at him, Hawke assumes that he hadn’t been expecting that answer.

“You don’t mean that,” he manages.

“I do.” Hawke says, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I just wish you could’ve been honest with me.”

There’s another silence. Hawke can hear Isabela and Fenris talking about something near the bow of the ship, but he can’t be bothered to pay attention to exactly what they’re saying. Isabela might’ve said something about Denerim, but it’s irrelevant. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” he says. “About being fugitives. Together.” 

“You’d really throw away everything for me?” Anders looks up at him in disbelief, finally meeting Hawke’s eyes. “Even after all of this?”

“Kirkwall was never home. Not really.” Hawke lowers himself so he’s at eye level with Anders, who’s sitting on a box. “You are.”

When they kiss, it’s not everything they wanted to say to each other, but it’s a start.  


* * *

  ** _ii. They could not feel, could not touch_**

Life on the run isn’t unfamiliar to him. Hawke is an apostate, just like his father and sister were. They’d always lived in fear of being caught by the templars and shipped off to the Circle or worse. _“Don’t get too close to outsiders”_ was their motto; one misstep and the three of them would be carted off and imprisoned for the crime of existing on their own terms.

But this time is different, wanted posters on Chantry boards aside. It’s just the two of them (and Dog), and much of their “running” is “running from Circle to Circle and helping them finally rise up.” 

They aren’t always a pair of dashing rebel mages enticing revolution, however; there’s healing that needs to be done, and wounds that have yet to close. Some of those wounds, Hawke thinks, will never truly mend. And he doesn’t expect them to. 

Anders still has his bad days, when he shuts everything out and doesn’t leave their makeshift home _du jour._ On one of his bad days, he and Hawke lay on their bedroll while a storm rages outside. Hawke has his arms around Anders’ waist and his head on his shoulder while his lover stares at the wall of their latest hovel and listens to the rain and the dog snoring beside them. He can’t will away Anders’ melancholy, as much as he wishes he could, so he settles for holding him close instead.

“I can’t believe you’re still with me,” Anders says quietly, as Hawke is beginning to doze off.

“Mm.” Hawke hums sleepily and pulls him closer. He feels the other mage settle against him and smiles slightly. “You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” 

“I never thought I’d make it out of Kirkwall.” Anders shifts in Hawke’s arms so that they’re laying face-to-face, his expression serious and full of the kind of pain that Hawke sees him carry too often. “Not just because of the Chantry, but…even before that. And I don’t…you deserve better than this.”

“I’m where I want to be,” Hawke says simply. “It’s not a matter of what I deserve and what I don’t. My place is with you. It always will be.”

Anders buries his face in Hawke’s shoulder, and Hawke rubs small circles on the man’s lower back. He wishes his lover would believe him, but it isn’t that simple.

* * *

**_iii. They shall find no rest in this world_ **

It isn’t long after that when Anders starts hearing the fake Calling (despite Justice’s best attempts to block it), and it isn’t long after _that_ when Varric’s letter arrives and Hawke knows he has to leave.

He hates the idea of leaving Anders and Dog by themselves, but someone has to stop Corypheus. This whole mess is at least partially his fault, anyway, because why wouldn’t it be? Just one more thing to add to his growing list of failures. First he’d let down his family, then all of Kirkwall, and now the entire world. Some hero he turned out to be.

Besides, he owes Varric this much.

Telling Anders the news goes about as well as expected, and he’s quite determined to go with him. It takes quite a while for Hawke to list out all the reasons why that would be a disaster, including _“You’re hearing the fake Calling already and being near Corypheus will probably make it worse”_ and _“Maker’s breath, Anders, you_ blew up a chantry _and you actually want to go to the Inquisition.”_ Anders finally, albeit reluctantly and unhappily, relents after that.

Hawke leaves at sunrise the next day. Despite it generally being safer to travel by night, he’s unfamiliar with the roads to the Inquisition and is less likely to get lost while it’s still light outside. Anders and the dog see him off.

“Look after Anders,” he tells Dog, scratching him in the spot he loves behind his ears. “Make sure he takes care of himself.”

The dog barks in understanding. Anders rolls his eyes, still fussing over Hawke’s armor and supplies. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Someone needs to make sure you eat while I’m not around,” Hawke says, “and Orana’s not here to give you sad looks until you do it.”

Anders says nothing, but slips another mana potion into Hawke’s belt and gives him one last assessment. Hawke watches as he looks over every inch of him. His eyes rest on the black, triple dragon-headed staff at his back (Orsino’s, which he’d inherited after the man foolishly and desperately used blood magic) for a moment, his expression unreadable, before moving on. After he finishes making sure that he’s ready to go, Hawke flashes him a grin that he hopes is reassuring.

“I’ll be fine, love,” he says, pulling Anders into an embrace. “Annoying Chantry types hardly scare me.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.” Anders returns the hug, his arms tight around Hawke’s waist. He doesn’t need to elaborate; they both know who he’s referring to.

“I killed the bastard once. I can do it again.” He hopes he sounds more sure of that than he actually is.

“Hawke, love, I…” Anders trails off. His voice is carefully even, but Hawke can tell that it’s taking everything in him to keep himself together. It’s enough to make him want to write back to Varric and tell him that the Inquisition can shove right off, but he can’t. He can’t be selfish again just yet. “Just…just…promise me you’ll be careful.”

If they weren’t about to part ways for some time so Hawke could face down an ancient evil that he’d already failed to stop once, he would’ve jokingly informed his lover that it isn’t in his nature to be careful and that people would start to talk if he didn’t make reckless decisions. But now isn’t the time for that, so instead he pulls Anders closer and says, “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

When Anders leans down to close the distance between them, Hawke can see that his eyes are wet. It’s not the desperate, frantic kiss that they shared in Anders’ clinic in the sewers all those years ago; it is slow and bittersweet and chaste, but there’s something else to it that Hawke can’t quite identify. When they finally pull apart, he wipes away Anders’ tears with his thumbs and swallows thickly.

“I’ll come back,” he tells him. “I love you.”

If only that could be enough.  


* * *

**_iv. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting_ **

The Inquisitor, he decides, is a lovely woman. In some ways, she reminds him of Bethany, which makes him just as sad as it does fond. According to Varric, she’d been a Circle mage before everything “went to shit” and somehow ended up with a magic hand and the ability to close Fade rifts. She is relatively soft-spoken and has an uncanny ability to blend into the background, which Hawke suspects are left over habits from her time in the Circle. But despite that and being the leader of…well, whatever the Inquisition is nowadays, she has a gentle heart and a smile that can light up the room.

He’s sitting at the remarkably classy tavern ( _“I can’t believe the ale here doesn't taste like nug piss,”_ he’d commented to a snickering Varric) and feeling nostalgic for the Hanged Man when the Inquisitor takes the seat across form him.

“This isn’t occupied, is it?” she asks.

“Varric’s left me all to my lonesome self for the evening,” he says melodramatically. “Something about needing to write letters. You’re welcome to keep me company.”

The Inquisitor (Trevelyan, that’s her name) smiles. “I wanted to thank you again. For coming, I mean. You didn’t have to.”

“And never grace the Inquisition with my presence?” Hawke grins. “Leave Varric at the mercy of that Seeker of yours? I could never.”

“Cassandra’s not so bad. She’s quite the fan of yours, actually.” 

“So I’ve heard,” he says. “Varric always did do the best job of bolstering my reputation.”

“I don’t think Varric’s the _only_ reason you’re so famous,” Trevelyan says, almost carefully. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you…did you really duel the Arishok? In single combat?”

“I did. And I have the scars to prove it.”

They sit like that in the tavern for some time, with Hawke recounting some of his more exciting exploits and the Inquisitor listening with almost childlike amazement. He thinks back to his childhood, when his father would tell him and the twins stories about the kinds of trouble he used to get into. So much had happened since then; Lothering seems like a far away dream.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed, but eventually people begin shuffling out of the tavern for the night and the Inquisitor notices. “I should probably retire for the evening. I’ve been lectured about not sleeping more than enough, I think.”

“I wouldn’t want the Herald of Andraste not getting enough rest on my account,” he teases, and she smiles.

“Thank you again, Hawke,” she says, and holds out her hand. “It’s an honor.”

“Likewise.” He shakes her hand. 

“I know it couldn’t have been easy leaving Anders behind,” She says after a pause, her voice quiet and (surprisingly) understanding. “But you’ll get home to him soon.”

If the Inquisitor has an opinion on Anders, she’s kept it to herself. Hawke had told her about the person he really is; not a possessed apostate who blew up a chantry, but a selfless man who ran a free clinic in Darktown for years and worked tirelessly to help his fellow mages. It’s funny how those parts never seem to make it to the minstrels. In the eyes of most of Thedas, it seems, the man he loves is nothing but a monster. For that reason— and the fact that he’s surrounded by “annoying Chantry types”— he hasn’t spoken about Anders with anyone but Varric and Trevelyan.  

_(“I know you hate him now,”_ he’d said carefully, _“but he wishes you well.”_

Varric shook his head and sighed. _"Shit, Blondie.”_

Hawke smiled.) 

“Don’t worry, I intend on it,” he says. The minute Corypheus is dead, he plans on marching straight out of Skyhold and all the way back to into Anders’ arms, where he’ll stay— for good, this time. 

Trevelyan smiles again. “Good night, Hawke.”

* * *

**_v. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_ **

_“Anders is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”_

“Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly.” 

Nightmare laughs at him.

Hawke had been to the Fade before, but never like this. Part of him is still convinced that this is all a very bizarre dream, but he knows that he’s never that fortunate. Trevelyan had somehow ripped a hole in the Fade and brought them all here, and he’s not entirely sure that she has a way out. The Divine (or what looks like the Divine, at any rate) seems to be on their side, but he knows better than to trust anything in this place.

_Don’t let it get to you,_ he tells himself, gripping his staff so tightly that his knuckles are going white. _It’s just this place. The demon is trying to scare you. Anders and Carver are fine._

But despite his best efforts to ignore Nightmare’s words, he still sees his father on his deathbed as he withers away from the sickness; Bethany, his little sister and best friend, being broken by that ogre; his mother (or the pieces of what remained of her) in his arms as she lay dying; Carver, his face ashen and eyes cloudy from the Blight as he disappears on his Calling; and Anders, sitting on that crate in Kirkwall with his back turned as pieces of the Chantry fell around them, only to look at Hawke with vacant eyes and a sunburst brand on his— 

No. He can’t let it get to him. He can’t do this to himself.

_“I would drown us in blood to keep you safe,”_ Anders had told him once. 

_Likewise,_ Hawke thinks, and charges off to help Trevelyan and Varric.

* * *

**_vi. Let chaos be undone_ **

“So,” Varric says, “Weisshaupt?”

“Someone has to tell the Wardens what happened here tonight.” Hawke isn’t happy about this, for several reasons— but he knows his job isn’t done yet. “And I suppose that has to be me.”

“What is it with you and getting yourself involved in things you shouldn’t?”

“Says the one who asked me to come here in the first place,” Hawke teases.

“Oh, you would’ve come even if I didn’t ask you to.” Varric waves him off dismissively, but he’s grinning good-naturedly. “You have a thing for assuming responsibility for everything.”

“I don’t see anyone else stepping up to do so.” 

“And deny you the opportunity? Never.”

The back-and-forth banter with Varric is familiar, and he realizes how much he’s missed this. For a moment he forgets that they’ve just come back from a physical trip into the Fade and the world is falling to pieces. Instead, he’s back at the Hanged Man, drinking and laughing with their friends about whatever shenanigans Kirkwall’s merry band of misfits had managed to get themselves into this time. But then he hears Cassandra and the Inquisitor talking not too far away, and he is brought back to the present. 

“Varric,” he says, “If you could—”

“Let Junior know where you’re going?” The dwarf interrupts him. “I will. I hear he’s off with Daisy, by the way. She’s been keeping him busy with the elven refugees.”

“Well, I _did_ tell Aveline to get him as far away from all of this as possible.” Hawke smiles fondly and shakes his head. “He’s had a thing for Merrill since the day they met, and he’s only just now making a move.”  

“You and Blondie pined after each other for _years,_ ” Varric reminds him. “Rivaini and I came very close to locking you two in a supply closet until you got your acts together.”

“It runs in the family.” Hawke shrugs. “Speaking of Anders—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll write to him, too.” 

Hawke smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Varric.”

He still can’t quite tell what Varric honestly thinks of Anders after everything that had happened, and it’s not a topic he intends on pushing. Kirkwall might’ve been a dump, but it had always been more Varric’s dump than his. Furthermore, the dwarf is a professional liar and surrounded by people who don’t think too kindly of the apostate who’d blown up the Kirkwall Chantry, so Hawke knows that his friend has to be careful. But even so, there’s a part of him that suspects that Varric doesn’t hate Anders nearly as much as the rumors imply.

“Shit, Hawke.” Varric sighs after a brief pause. “Take care of yourself out there. I don’t want to be the one to tell Junior and Blondie that you went and did something stupid.”

“I think they’d worry more if I _didn’t_ do something stupid.”  

Varric chuckles at that. “Alright, fair enough.”

There are a lot of things that Hawke wants to say— about Kirkwall, about their friends, about the fact that they’d just survived a physical trip into the Fade and had lost Stroud in the process— but he can’t find the words. He doubts he ever will.

* * *

**_vii. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just_**  

It’s raining when Anders wakes up.

It isn’t quite storming, but it’s enough to make the joints in his staff arm ache. While it isn’t anything that a bit of healing magic won’t take care of, it’s a reminder that he’s getting older. That in itself is strange, because he never thought he’d make it to the point where the years would start to catch up with his body. Aveline had once told him that she expected him to go out in a blaze, and she would’ve been right had Hawke not changed the story. Again.

The dog is sleeping by the door, and there’s some (very drooled on) game left in a pile near his boots. He takes his duty of taking care of Anders very seriously, despite no longer being a young dog himself. Anders still isn’t much of a dog person and doesn’t exactly have the stomach for the kinds of animals that Hawke’s mabari ends up dragging in, but even he can appreciate Dog’s best attempts at making sure he has enough food and gets enough sleep. 

He also reminds him of Garrett in some ways, so there’s that, too.

After pulling on his coat and boots, Anders goes outside. The house (shack, really) that he and Hawke have taken up residence in is in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by woods, so he hasn’t trouble with bounty hunters or rogue templars in quite a while. He’s almost beginning to wonder if the world is moving on from that day in Kirkwall, but the more likely explanation is that a hole in the sky is a more pressing matter than an apostate who blew up a chantry. It isn’t enough to get his hopes up that maybe he and Hawke will have normal lives, because that was never in the cards for either of them— but maybe things are starting to change.

The rain is cold, and it’s a good thing he hadn’t left yesterday’s wash outside to dry. He’d been doing his best to keep himself busy since Hawke left all those long months ago. Sometimes, he took Dog and went to local villages and offered healing to anyone in need; other times, he helped rebel mages that came through the area. But there’s still a dull ache in his chest, different from the kind in his bones that came on rainy mornings like this one. The letter he received from Varric months ago said Hawke had left the Inquisition and was going to Weisshaupt, but he hasn’t heard a word about his lover since then.

_He’ll be fine,_ he keeps telling himself, because maybe if he says it enough he’ll start to believe it.

He’s just about to go back in the house when the dog starts barking runs past him, darting off into the woods. Anders blinks and stares after him for a moment before sighing and grabbing his staff from inside. He can’t recall the last time he’s seen Dog move that fast, so it must be templars or something equally as pleasant. Great. Just what his morning needs.

Anders follows the sound of Dog’s barking as he tries to calm Justice’s indignation. He’s been getting better at keeping the spirit in check since they left Kirkwall, with Hawke’s theory being that being in the city itself was causing most of the problems. There’s certainly merit to it.

As he gets closer to the dog, he hears an all-too familiar voice and his heart almost stops.

“Alright, alright, down, boy! I missed you too—”

It can’t be…can it?

He breaks into a sprint and the next thing he knows, he’s standing in a small clearing in the trees and across from Hawke, who’s trying to calm an incredibly enthusiastic mabari. Anders can hardly believe it. After all this time, his lover is only several feet away from him, laughing and road-weary and just so _Hawke_ that he has no idea what he’s done to deserve this.  

“Garrett,” he manages, amazed that his voice is still working. 

Hawke’s head snaps up immediately, his gaze settling on Anders as he somehow manages to grin wider. He looks just as he did the day he left— black hair a mess, armor well-worn and starting to fade, brown eyes full of warmth, and a smile just as radiant as the one that Anders had fallen for all those years ago. If this is a dream, he doesn’t ever want to wake up. 

“Anders,” Hawke breathes, and suddenly he is in front of him and kissing him like he is the most important thing in the world; like he _is_ the world. It is desperate and sweet and long and too short all at once, and when they break apart, Hawke is still smiling at him despite what looks suspiciously like tears in eyes. 

“Love,” is all Anders has time to say before they’re kissing again. The rain is soaking through both of them, but he can’t bring himself to care much less. Hawke’s arms are impossibly warm around him, and all he needs is this.

When they finally remember that air is a thing they need, Anders presses his face into Hawke’s shoulder as he catches his breath. “Maker’s breath, I…I missed you so much.”

“I’m home,” Hawke says. “I’m home.”

This is not the life he imagined leading, even when all he thought he wanted was a pretty girl and the right to shoot lightening at fools. He’s a healer with the blood of the Chantry and the ashes of a city on his hands, and yet the hero who’d already sacrificed too much had given him his heart again and again. What they have isn’t perfect and it never will be, but it is theirs— for good, this time. 

And that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be much shorter, but I think it got away from me at some point.
> 
> Honestly, I just needed an elaborate excuse to write the post-Inquisition handers reunion that Bioware refuses to give me.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://floirida.tumblr.com/)!


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